


Sanguine's Book of Fuckery

by alliwannadoissimp



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sex, Sex Pollen, Sex on Furniture, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliwannadoissimp/pseuds/alliwannadoissimp
Summary: Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery, has decided that Mara is not nearly effective enough in her job as the goddess of love and Dibella lacks a certain finesse when it comes to the act of making it. He's taken it upon himself to give some rather reluctant people the push they need to finally expressing themselves beginning with his new favorite mortal.Of course, he will do this in the most sinful way possible.(This will contain multiple works that feature several OCs I have from my Skyrim universe. I will add chapters as I go, but each chapter will work as a standalone fic)
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farengar Secret-Fire, Farengar Secret-Fire/Original Character(s), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farengar Secret-Fire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Sanguine's Book of Fuckery

**Author's Note:**

> Farengar and Miralyn spend a heated evening after a mix up in potion ingredients turns into a labor...of love. Brought to you by Sanguine - Daedric Prince of Getting Your Freak On.

“What are you doing?”

Farengar leapt at the sudden sound of the Dragonborn’s voice in his ear, nearly spilling the bowl of frost salts he’d been sprinkling carefully into the flask over his alchemy table. The noise that escaped him was small, high, and utterly demoralizing to hear echo through the vacant halls of Dragonsreach at this late hour. 

“Miralyn,” he bit back the string of curses poised at the tip of his tongue as he turned to see his friend leaning gracefully against his desk behind him. He should have known to set up wards to alert him of her presence. “I was not expecting you,” he added with a snort.

“Clearly,” she chuckled, making her way to her perch on his enchanter’s table, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make _that_ noise before.”

Farengar rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the task at hand. Already he’d wasted precious moments in his brewing and could not afford to scold her for sitting on his equipment like a delinquent child. “What brings you here this late an hour?” he asked, dusting his hands on his robes and moving his magelight above his head to better read the instructions on the page. 

“Lydia, actually. Well, Lydia and Ysolda, I should say,” Miralyn replied with a wistful sigh. “Things were getting a little hot and heavy and the Breezehome isn’t exactly large…”

“Ah, I see.”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she went on, hopping down to his great relief. She leaned in close and tenderly ran her finger over the page. “Potion of courage?” Her head tilted to the side, brows furrowed as she examined the instructions with interest. 

“A complicated potion,” Farengar assured her, swatting her hand away before she could make him lose his concentration. 

“Why not just have Arcadia brew it for you?”

He glowered, “How then, would my skills as an alchemist improve?”

“Good point,” she held her hands up and backed away. “Need help?”

The mage considered this, remembering well that she had studied magic, alchemy, and enchanting back home in Daggerfall under the most prestigious of tutors. The Breton was a far cry from an adept mage to be certain, but she knew more than enough to assist him with grabbing ingredients. 

“Very well,” he said, tapping the page. “Would you mind grabbing some Lady’s Smock? They are small white flowers clustered together to look like-”

“A lady’s smock?” Miralyn grinned up at him as she tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear. “Consider it done.”

He watched her walk out of the room, hips swaying with feminine grace, and then pinched his brow. Perhaps he was going to regret allowing her to assist him after all.

Mira smirked as she passed the grumpy Nord, well aware his gaze was following her as she made her way to the pantry where he kept his alchemical supplies and reagents. He wouldn’t admit it, but she’d seen the smallest of smiles on his lips. Gripe and complain all he wished, Farengar was happy to see her.

She, on the other hand, was less than thrilled to rifle through his cabinets in what he considered controlled chaos. There was nothing controlled about it. There was no rhyme or reason to the madness, no pattern to follow, no guide to assist her in any way. It was a free for all for whoever he sent, and they were doomed to failure. She’d asked him about it once, in an attempt to get her hands on organizing it, but he’d politely declined. According to him, people were less likely to steal rare or dangerous ingredients if they couldn’t easily find them.

 _Difficult to argue that logic,_ she mused as she stared blank-faced at the mess before her. _No one is finding anything in here._

She scanned the contents of each shelf, eyes squinting in the darkness. There was just enough light from his spell that she could make out the different vials of various ingredients from all over Tamriel, but not quite enough to make out his tiny script labeling them. That is, if they were labeled _at all._

“Any hint as to where you put them?” she called out, resorting to grabbing everything that looked like a flower and wondering if he’d sent her on a wild chase to keep her distracted while he worked. 

“Top shelf. Should be next to Namira's Rot and the Chaurus eggs,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation. 

_Of course. Why not?_ She raised up on her tiptoes to get a better look at everything above her eye level. She could have just used a stool, but that would have been too simple a task for the likes of the Dovahkiin, and she was already losing patience at having to find the bloody flowers to begin with. Her fingers felt along the top shelf until she found what she was looking for and beamed with pride. 

They didn’t look _exactly_ as she remembered, but then again it had been well over a year since she used them in anything. They seemed a little bigger, fluffier too, and she could have _sworn_ they were supposed to be in clusters of three to five, not six and nine, but another glance on the shelf revealed that was all there was next to the mushrooms and bug eggs.

“Here you are. Lady’s Smock,” she handed the vial over to the mage and stepped back again. Farengar didn’t even look at her this time as he pulled the cork out with his teeth and began grinding the flowers and their stalks with mortar and pestle. 

It was mesmerizing to watch him work. Every twist of his wrist was precise and intense. The way he stared at the page and measured out each ingredient was intense. _Everything_ he did was simply _intense._ She began to wonder if he was that way in every aspect of his life, or if it was something he saved for magic alone.

“This next part is tricky,” he said, cutting her out of her idle thoughts as he shoved the mortar and pestle into her hands. “I need you to grind these ingredients and add this fresh spring water in only _after_ it has become a fine powder. I am sure you are capable of that, yes?”

Miralyn nodded, biting her tongue from some witty retort. Farengar was in his element and she wasn’t about to push her luck. She crushed and ground the ingredients with vigor that matched his own and was rewarded by the occasional backward glance and small smile she enjoyed. 

Miralyn must’ve really wanted to be anywhere else but home in the way she threw herself into assisting him, Farengar realized after watching her to make sure she was following his instructions. She didn’t even bother snapping at him with that wicked tongue or wrinkling her freckled nose over something he’d said without thinking. It was nice, at first. He never dreamed of a day where the plucky Dragonborn wouldn’t grate his nerves or make him roll his eyes. Now, however, he was beginning to miss the constant back and forth or the sound of her playful laughter.

 _What has become of me,_ he wondered, stealing another glance behind him at the woman sitting on his enchanter’s table swinging her legs back and forth while she worked. He knew _exactly_ what happened, of course. Miralyn was of Daggerfall nobility and as such, she was lovely. Loose golden curls that looked like sunlight fell over her rounded shoulders, a small, upturned nose complimented her large, beautiful green eyes. Her smile. _By the Nine_ , her smile was radiant. 

Farengar cleared his throat in an effort to empty his mind of thoughts of her. It was inappropriate and did nothing to help him focus on the potion at hand. 

Speaking of which, was it supposed to have a wine-red hue? He thought it was meant to be more yellow?

“Done!” Mira beamed, the sudden sound of her voice beside him making him jump again. She frowned as she looked at the potion, “Is it supposed to look like that?”

He took the mortar from her and slowly added the thick paste to one of the beakers. “It’s not yet finished,” he told her, though it was worrying that even _she_ noticed something wasn’t quite right about it. When she shrugged, he lifted the bowl that had the Lady’s Smock in it and sniffed it. 

_Faintly sweet. Just as it should be,_ he thought and set the bowl down so he could begin stirring the paste with the rest of the concoction. It turned more muddy in color first before shifting to a dark, silken red. He read over the instructions again, and then once more for clarification he’d done everything right, but the potion didn’t look at all like he remembered. 

No matter. It still had to simmer before he added more frost salts to begin the cooling process. It was likely to change color then.

“What are you even brewing this potion for?” Miralyn asked from her perch, “Other than just trying to improve your alchemy skill, that is?”

He was about to turn around and give the explanation he’d concocted on the chance she would have shown up this evening, but a sudden wave of heat overcame him. Brow furrowed, Farengar reached out to make sure the table itself wasn’t too hot. It _seemed_ to be right, but his face and chest felt flushed as if with fever. Odd.

“Uh, Farengar?” Mira’s voice seemed a bit strangled and he turned to see her fanning her face. “I know you don’t like anyone telling you how to do what you do, but I think the heat is a little _too_ high for this potion, don’t you?”

So she was feeling it too? He turned back to the book and flipped the page to see a list of side effects of the potion. All of them were bound to have a drawback or two. Upon closer inspection, a fever didn’t seem to be one of them, not even after taking the potion directly.

“You did grab Lady’s Smock, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Of course I did. It was right there by the chaurus eggs and Namira’s Rot like you said,” Mira replied, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

_Interesting._

The strange feeling left almost as suddenly as it appeared, and with it his suspicions that something had gone wrong in the process. Even Miralyn appeared to have cooled, though she seemed to squirm a bit more than usual. 

A thick haze began to form in the room shortly after he added the frost salts. It smelled rich and feminine, almost earthy. Immediately his mind wandered to Miralyn. He’d known her for nearly a year at this point and couldn’t help but realize the cloudy haze smelled just like the Breton swinging her legs from atop his enchanting table. It clung to his robes and his hood, embracing him from all sides as he continued brewing. It caressed him, licked at his skin, and settled over him in a way it felt as if she were wrapped around him. 

Farengar swallowed, his body twitching at the thought of the Dragonborn that close to him. He glanced in her direction to be sure she was still sitting there and found her eyes staring into his. They seemed _different._ Were her pupils always so dilated? Had her lips been parted before? 

He twitched again.

“Farengar?” Miralyn crossed her legs again, pink tongue darting over her lips to wet them. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine,” he replied, but his voice was gruff. He cleared his throat, “If you are so uncomfortable, you may as well sit in my chair.”

She seemed a bit dazed, but nodded in agreement. She brushed past him and made the slightest of moans at the contact. Both of them froze - he because the sound went straight to his cock and her because she’d made the sound at all.

“Would you mind if I used your wash basin?” she asked, voice lilted and soft. “I-I’m feeling rather hot again.”

He nodded and allowed her to dismiss herself into his small room. Just as the door clicked shut, Farengar was unable to keep himself from pressing his palm to his shaft for some relief of pressure. This was embarrassing and completely inappropriate. In all his time spent with Mira, he’d never had such a strong reaction before. Sure, he’d thought about her in the dead of night, imagined what it would have been like to touch her or hold her, or even just go on one of her adventures, but to be so aroused at the slightest of touches?

The worst of it was, no manner of thought would make it go away. Normally he could just dive into his studies or begin enchanting or brewing a potion to take his mind off things, but it seemed with every breath he took, the matter at hand was not going to be ignored. Not this time.

His ears strained in the silence of the hold, the only sounds he listened for were the soft splashes of water in the basin, which were enough to know he had a moment of privacy. The guards weren’t in sight and all he had to do was slip into the other room where the ingredients were kept should she come out sooner than anticipated.

At once his hand was beneath his robes, his erection throbbing with every pulse of his heart. He hissed at the contact, far more sensitive than usual to his own touch. Even with the soft hands of a mage, they were rough as they dragged against the smooth flesh of his cock, making him bite his lip to stifle a groan.

It was pointless. He wasn’t going to get off this way, nor was his problem going anywhere soon. He needed something softer, wetter, warmer...His mind strayed to the memory of Miralyn’s tongue darting over her full lips and he throbbed with desire. 

_What in Oblivion has overcome me?_ Farengar shook his head and began rummaging through the cabinet for anything that would be a better substitute. At last his hands found a bowl of troll fat. His nose wrinkled at the thought and smell of it, but it was a better alternative to everything else and it was warm. 

_Divines, what am I doing?_

Miralyn was faring no better in Farengar’s room. She’d only meant to use the water from the basin to cool her skin and clear her mind. When the splashes against her face proved unhelpful, she decided to use a cloth and try to cleanse her skin of the foggy haze that seemed to cling to her now. That didn’t help either. Farengar’s scent still seemed to envelop her and cloud her mind and light a fire within her soul.

As well as light a fire in _other_ places.

Being the Dragonborn and destined to traverse all of Skyrim, it stood to reason she wouldn’t get her desires fulfilled as much as the average person. It was an easy enough problem to ignore. A dip in a cold river or knowing that Lydia was there in the tent beside her acted as an excellent deterrent should she find herself hot and bothered while adventuring.

But here in Farengar’s study? In the dead of night? With him right outside this door? And knowing she’d often wondered just what he was working with under all those robes?

Miralyn swallowed hard.

 _Oh Divines, what has gotten into me?_ she thought as her hands slowly moved down her body. Perhaps just a quick reprieve would be all she needed to overcome this sudden wave of desire? She was wound tight enough and knew herself well that it wouldn’t take long at all to reach her peak and find satisfaction.

Gods be praised she wore a simple dress this evening and not the leathers she’d considered before Lydia and Ysolda began to get intimate.

With one hand, Mira pulled her dress up and the other quickly moved the panel of fabric that was her smallclothes only to find her soaked and needy. She pressed her back against the wall, slicking her fingers through her sensitive folds and shuddering with a shaky breath at the sensation. No, this wouldn’t take long at all.

Her mind wandered to Farengar, who was no doubt already consumed with his work again to notice she was taking a little longer than she should, and bit back a moan. Somehow, knowing he was just outside while she was masturbating made it all the more erotic. She also realized she hadn’t locked the door. Just the thought of him walking in to check on her and finding her in this state with her hand up her dress sent another wave of pure lust through her, soaking her fingers more. 

She came, lips tightly pressed together and legs shaking as she imagined him watching her. It was probably the quickest she’d come in her life, and to the thought of Farengar of all people. Not that she didn’t like him. _Gods,_ that wasn’t the case at all. As prickly as the mage was and those damnable sideburns he sported, Miralyn found she liked him very much. The problem was, he cared only about his dragons and his studies. Outside of that, people did not rank very high and she imagined women were even lower.

Smoothing her dress back into place, Miralyn thought her ordeal was over. She washed her hands in the basin, splashed her face again, and waited for her heart to quit racing.

But it wouldn’t and she was still soaking wet.

 _What in Oblivion is wrong with me tonight?_ She wondered, shifting from foot to foot as if that would help alleviate the throbbing below. It didn’t. If anything, it served to make the sensation grow until she was lifting her dress again and riding her fingers until ecstasy took her. She came harder this time, the smallest of moans defying her lips as her body quaked. 

Mira had all but forgotten Farengar was standing there in the next room and knew he was bound to call for her or seek her out any minute, but that realization only spurred her on. Or at least it spurred her body on. Her mind was racing over what was happening. She’d never been so aroused in her life and it seemed as if every attempt to quell the fire growing seemed only to stoke it into an inferno.

She was getting hot again too. Too hot. Her body itched and burned to the point she said fuck all and removed her dress completely. She needed more, she decided. Something long, thick and…

_Farengar._

Miralyn blinked and shook her head. She was _not_ going to ask Farengar to abandon his work to fuck her senseless. That was one sure way to make sure the mage kicked her out into the cold night and refuse to ever see her again. 

_But what if he wanted to?_

She wasn’t sure if the question was her own or brought on by the delirium she now faced and it only served to give her mind images of him pinning her against the wall and thrusting hard and deep. 

Miralyn came again with a quiet sob. Oh, but she _wanted_ it! She wanted him to bust through the door, find her helpless and needy and take her in his arms until she felt whole. She wanted him to kiss her, to taste her, to finally push aside his damned books and see her as the woman she was. 

The Breton moved to the bed, sweat now beading her brow. Perhaps if she were to get a better angle, she’d be able to fill the hole she was feeling form inside her. Somehow, she knew if she were to be filled it would take care of everything. However, laying on his bed only surrounded her more with his musky scent, driving her wild. She found herself breathing deeply into his pillow as her fingers worked, her imagination running rampant that it was _him_ instead. She was losing control of herself, and for reasons unknown she didn’t mind at all. She succumbed to the imagery in her mind, the need to remain quiet becoming more of a hassle as the fantasy took over. 

“Oh-oh, _Farengar!”_

At the sound of his name on her lips, Farengar stiffened. He had been trying for several minutes now, far too long, to find the release he sought to no avail. His erection was now becoming painful with each renewed attempt and he was nearly ready to give up and seek a healer, embarrassing as that would be. Hearing Mira cry out his name, however, gave him reason to tuck himself away for the time being and rush to see what was wrong.

He crashed through the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to see, but the Dragonborn bare in his bed with her fingers working furiously between her legs was not it. How he didn’t spend himself right there looking down at her in the throes of her ecstasy, he could not say or fathom. Stronger men than he would have fallen to their knees to beg and plead to assist her.

Farengar just stood there.

“What in Oblivion are you doing here?” Miralyn squealed with indignity and did her best to hide her nakedness, but it was an image he knew would be seared into his mind for the rest of his life.

“Y-you called my name,” he stammered, turning around to give her some measure of privacy though they both knew it to be too late. “You-you sounded distressed.”

“I-no-you!” She couldn’t seem to get whatever words were flying in her mind out of that pretty mouth of hers. “What sort of potion are you making? And _don’t_ tell me it’s a potion of courage because I’m calling shit on that.”

“I really am only brewing a potion of courage!” he turned and immediately regretted it. She was sitting up in his bed now, the sheets covering her breasts though the expanse of her hip and thigh were yet visible. It sent another surge of lust through him, one that made him ache with increasing need. “Besides, if you were feeling so inclined, you should have either gone home to take care of your problem or at least you could have locked the door,” he added, the stiffness making him irritable. 

This wouldn’t do at all. With every passing moment it was becoming harder and harder to resist trying to relieve himself again. If she didn’t leave soon, he was afraid she may be watching him stroke himself to completion. He groaned at the discomfort and tried his best to inconspicuously press his palm against his shaft only to hiss.

“Farengar? Are you well?”

The softness of his name on her lips only added to the need growing and he shook his head. “I’m afraid I am not,” he told her, shamefully bowing his head in defeat. There was no way around this in which he wouldn’t come out embarrassed, so he might as well own up to it before it got out of hand. “I seem to be suffering the same affliction.”

Miralyn didn’t even try to hide the way her gaze dropped to his shame, eyes growing wide with concern. “What is happening?”

“If I knew the answer to that, do you think I would be standing here like this?” he growled, cheeks flushed and his mood becoming more sour. “Perhaps we should consult with a healer.”

“Oh no. No no no,” she very nearly stood up from the bed until she realized she would reveal herself again. 

“Mira-”

“No!” She pointed her finger at him, emerald eyes glinting dangerously. “What has happened in this room is _not_ leaving it, Farengar Secret-Fire. Do I make myself clear? You are an excellent mage. I’m sure the answer to our problem lies somewhere within your study.”

Farengar could see her point, and a small part of him swelled with pride that she had faith enough to leave this up to him, but he wasn’t as sure. He’d studied magic for a long time and brewed countless potions. Even those that had gone terribly wrong never created anything quite like this. He wasn’t even sure where to begin other than possibly looking at any and all side effects the ingredients themselves had. Arcadia had lent him a book with her own notes and with all her knowledge and skill, there was bound to be an answer there.

“I think I know where to start,” he said. “Are you able to get dressed? You’re not in any pain, are you?”

“Other than getting a little sore?” she shook her head. “But you need to turn around.”

He did as told, but 0the image of her fucking her own fingers clouded his every other thought. “And, ah,” he blushed, “Would you mind searching for Arcadia’s book of ingredients? It should be red with gold lettering. I-ah-need a moment.”

“Take all the time you need,” Mira replied, taking a few steps before stopping. “Better yet, don’t take _too_ much time.”

Judging from the strain in her voice, Farengar was certain any rush of adrenaline she’d experienced upon him walking in on her was fast diminishing. 

“I shouldn’t. If I do, call for me and let me know you found the book.”

She nodded and slowly walked past him. He noticed the way her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul, and then he remembered.

“Why do I smell troll fat?” she wondered, furrowing her brow as she turned to him.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” he lied. “Now, hurry and find the book so we may figure this out sooner rather than later.”

He was going to need a minute for vigorous cleaning and maybe a change of robes before he dared to join her.

It didn’t take long for Mira to find the book he referred to, but she didn’t have the concentration to be able to focus on the words. Farengar seemed to be taking his sweet time in his room, not that she could blame him. If he felt half as needy as she did, he needed some privacy. She did, however, check to make sure the book he had propped on the alchemy table didn’t contain any sort of love or lust potion. Divines help him if this was something he’d done with intent...

Alas, there was nothing she could see at a glance. It seemed as if her speculation that his intentions were anything less than pure were baseless and born of her own irritability in the wake of her untimely arousal. It was equally as frustrating as thinking he’d done this on purpose because while he might know where to start looking, Miralyn was beginning to think this might end up being a wild goose chase to which there was no choice but to wait it out.

Gods, she hoped not.

Her smallclothes were sopping again by the time Farengar opened the door to his room. He looked well tousled, red faced, and as if he were in a severe amount of pain. He walked with a limp she knew he didn’t have before and slightly hunched, his face grimacing with every step. 

“Gods, you look terrible.”

He scowled at her, not finding humor at all despite her attempt at a smile. “I feel terrible.”

Miralyn decided it was best not to hop down right away, given that every movement seemed to make her more and more excited. Instead, she handed him the book and waited. Farengar sat down at his desk, head in his hands and flipped through the pages. She imagined it wouldn’t take long. He was smart, well-read, and likely knew the page number of every ingredient he used this evening. 

But when a few minutes stretched into more and her body became more and more heated, that patience faded.

Farengar groaned and shifted, hands occasionally reaching down to adjust himself only to make him hiss. The poor mage seemed as uncomfortable as she did and it seemed to be getting worse and worse. She wanted to help him, to give him some form of relief, but what could she possibly do? Practiced in magic as she was, she was no healer. She didn’t know a potion that could be brewed to counteract these specific effects.

“Uh, Farengar?” she swallowed as an idea formed in her mind. It came to her in an instant, wetting her thighs and chasing away all rational thought. Somehow, though she didn’t know _how,_ Miralyn knew this could be a solution to his problem and possibly help hers too if he were willing.

“If you’re wondering why I don’t have the answer, it’s because I can’t seem to focus on the words. You’ll have to bear with me,” he moaned, palming himself again.

“What if I were to help you?” 

“Help me?” he looked at her, face twisted with pain. “How could you help me?”

 _Here goes nothing,_ she thought as she sank to her knees. “You said you were suffering the same affliction. Perhaps...perhaps if I were to _help_ you,” she stressed the word with a pointed glance up at him, “then you could concentrate enough to get us out of this mess?”

There was no hiding the flames of desire in the light green of his eyes. He even licked his lips with anticipation, his knees spreading of their own volition at her proposition. Just when she thought he was going to give in, the mage shook his head.

“No. It wouldn’t be proper,” he groaned, eyes closing in defeat.

“Why not?”

“I do not wish to take advantage of you in this state,” he said. “I-I do not think I would be able to forgive myself for using you to my own ends.”

Mira chuckled, but made no move to push him no matter how wet she became at the thought of taking him in her mouth and feeling him twitch against her tongue. “You wouldn’t be taking advantage, Farengar. I’m willingly offering. If anything, wouldn’t I be taking advantage of you?”

He cursed under his breath unable to look at her now as she peaked up at him from her knees on the floor. “You? Take advantage of me? I really don’t think it possible.”

“Then let me help you,” Mira offered again. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Farengar had several ideas of what _worse_ could be. For one, he was painfully hard. The notion of anything touching him at this point seemed like a terrible idea, even if it were her. Another thing, it had been far too long since his last encounter with another woman, and that hadn’t gone over well at all. Being on the brink of orgasm as long as he had on top of that? The chances he would come the moment Mira touched him were far greater than he’d like and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself in such a manner in front of her.

“We could get caught,” he said, voice straining when Miralyn touched his thigh. While his study was off from the main hall and rarely visited by anyone other than Mira and the jarl, it was still open to any wandering eyes that might be curious to see what he was up to at such a late hour. While there was a certain appeal in having those that considered themselves great warriors look upon him, a mage, being pleasured by perhaps the greatest warrior of all, Farengar wasn’t entirely sure that was a fantasy he wanted to see played out.

“Then I’ll hide right here,” she grinned and moved herself underneath his desk. 

He knew in that instant if he were able to come, he would have. He hadn’t even realized this was a fantasy of his until he saw her there beneath his desk, large green eyes batting up at him writ with debauchery. Now, against his better judgement, he wanted nothing _more_ than for her to help herself at his expense. He _needed_ it.

“Are you sure?” his breath hitched as she situated herself between his legs, fingers deftly working on the sash that kept his robes closed.

“Hmm?” She peeked up at him, eyes wide and wanting. “Farengar, if I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be offering. The question is, do _you_ want this?”

Oh, he wanted this. Needed it too judging from the growing ache in his balls. It’d been something he’d thought about on a few occasions when the nights were long, cold, and lonely, but he never considered such a thing would ever happen to him. Not with anyone, let alone her.

“I-do,” he managed to get out with a flush of his cheeks, “but what if-?”

She chuckled up at him, lip pinned beneath a row of pretty white teeth. “No one is going to catch us. I’ll be discrete.”

 _Not what I’m worried about,_ he thought as her hand ghosted over his shaft through the fabric. “And if I am about to-uh-?”

“Give me a warning and I’ll take care of it,” Mira smiled with a wink as she slid the panel of fabric off him. He gulped at the cool kiss of night caressing his aching shaft, eyes closing in defeat. She was really doing this and seemingly of her own volition. Gods, he hoped she wouldn’t wake in the morning with regret.

“Oh Divines,” she paused and he couldn’t help but look down to see her staring wide-eyed at his cock. “Are all Nords so blessed?”

Farengar didn’t rightly know. He always considered himself rather average, but looking at her petite form now, he realized average for him and average for her were probably very different.

He was about to open his mouth to respond when the Breton took him into her hands and began to softly stroke him. His entire body went rigid, hands gripping the arms of his chair and back stiff as a board. He thought her hands would have been rough considering she often fought with a bow, but to his great pleasure, they were soft and smooth against him.

“If I do anything wrong, tell me please?” Mira spoke softly from under his desk, eyes peeping up at him from time to time.

All he could muster was a suppressed moan and nod his head, fingers gripping more tightly as she quickened her pace. Already he was twitching, his end drawing closer and closer with every steady pump of her hands, but it was the moment the wet heat of her mouth encased him that he lost all control.

“M- _Mira,”_ he tried to pull back, tried to pull at her hair to avoid taking her by surprise, but he was too late. He partly spilled in her mouth while the rest spurted onto her cheeks. 

Farengar had never been more mortified by anything else in his life. Ever.

Miralyn simply sat there blinking in surprise as she licked her lips and glanced up at him. “Been awhile?”

 _Oblivion swallow me whole,_ he grimaced and quickly tucked himself away before any more embarrassment could be had. She’d stolen his entire soul without having even tried and he knew, he _knew,_ she would forever laugh at him for his swiftness. 

“Farengar?” She reached out to him as he stood from his chair and made his way to his room to seek a cloth to help clean her up. It was the least he could do considering everything. The sooner she left, the better for his state of mind.

When he returned, he found her wiping the evidence he left on her pretty face with her fingers and a smile. 

“Here.” He didn’t even look at her as he tossed the wet rag in her direction. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her laugh at him, so he turned his attention to the book he’d tried reading before. At the very least, having finally achieved orgasm, he was of much sounder mind and could now easily focus.

“Hey,” Miralyn leaned against his desk, her voice tinged with concern. “Did I do something to anger you?”

“I think it best we hurry and find the answer to our problem, don’t you?” he grumbled, turning the pages without looking at her.

She silenced herself then, retreating from his side and back to the enchanting table far away from him. Good. The smell of her would only prove to be another distraction anyway. As he scanned the notes written on Lady’s Smock, the only ingredient he hadn’t procured himself, he found a small note at the bottom to also see Sanguine’s Bliss.

Farengar frowned. He hadn’t remembered reading much on the flower and he’d certainly never used it before in anything. It wasn’t even something he’d ordered from the Mage’s College or from across the border to keep on his shelf. He knew _of_ the flower, but that was as far as his knowledge extended, so he turned to the page listed and began reading.

_Sanguine’s Bliss is a small white flower found in clusters of six and nine to each stalk. It has a light, sweet scent that mostly goes undetected. A rare ingredient that can be found in all reaches of Tamriel, though specific conditions in which it grows have yet to be discerned…_

“Miralyn?” He asked, eyes scanning further down the page with interest. “The Lady’s Smock. How many clusters of flowers were on the stalks?”

“Six and nine,” she replied, voice clipped and agitated. It reminded him it was not only he that was suffering this affliction and while she’d helped him, she was still suffering.

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Oh no? What do you mean, oh no?” She was at his side in another instant, peering over his shoulder to discover what he’d found.

_The properties of Sanguine’s Bliss are strong and immediate. Chewing upon a single stalk of the flower is said to send the participant into a frenzy that seems to only be alleviated by coupling with another man or mer. As such, it is not recommended in the use of potions as an increase in concentration of the substance may prove too much to handle._

Farengar leaned back and let her read the passage for herself, his mind whirring now with what it meant. It didn’t make much sense to him as it seemed to be something that had to be ingested for it to work, but considering that both he and Miralyn were affected without having tasted the potion yet meant there was something else about it he was missing. 

He took a deep breath, the heady scent of Mira clouding his mind once again and consuming him in such a manner, he couldn’t help but become hard. 

And then it clicked.

“Sanguine’s Bliss?” Mira muttered. “As in the flower that people sprinkle into women’s drinks so they will sleep with them?” She then turned to Farengar with rage in her eyes. “Why in Nirn would you have that?”

“I have never ordered it,” he said. “It must have been sent to me by mistake.”

“Right. Sure. Do you not check to make sure you got the right ingredients?”

He scowled, her tone now grating, “I trust my sources. Besides, don’t you taste test every ingredient before using them?”

“I only do it to see the effects they have in their raw form!” she tossed her hands in the air and began to pace around the room. “And I only do it once. I had Lady’s Smock when I was back home. There was no need to try it again.”

“Yes, but you should have known that flower comes in three and five.”

“I handed it to you! Shouldn’t you have known?”

Miralyn was fed up. What had started out as perfect fun, however brief it was, had now turned into a yelling match between them. If only he’d tell her what his real problem was, aside from the mix up in ingredients, they would have moved on to other _activities_ by now.

“Look,” she sighed, pinching her brow and pressing her legs together. “What’s done is done and there is naught we can do to change it. So what can we do to stop this?”

Despite the anger in his eyes, Farengar backed down as well and turned to the book. “According to this, there is no counter potion or spell to stop it. We must wait for it to leave our systems.”

She groaned. She couldn’t keep waiting. Already she was soaked nearly to her knees and her body was burning up again. She needed release and she needed it soon to get her out of this frenzied state of mind. “Any way to speed up the process? Or am I doomed to return home and work myself until I am chafed and raw?”

“It says it seems only to be alleviated through coupling with man or mer,” he replied. “So if you have a friend, perhaps they can help you.”

His words, though surely not intended, wounded her. Had she not just been on her knees before him, pleasuring him to help clear his mind? Was he so repulsed by her that he wouldn’t even offer the same treatment?

“You’re here,” she said. “And you’re suffering too. Would it not make sense that we help each other?”

“And have me embarrass myself the moment you touch me?” he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Ah. So that was it. He was upset that he’d spent himself without warning on her and was embarrassed. If it wouldn’t have hurt his feelings and masculinity further, she would have laughed as she pulled his chair further from the desk and placed herself in his line of sight.

“Farengar, I need you to listen to me. I don’t mind what happened,” she smiled at him, hoping she was coming across sincere. “It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one.”

He still wouldn’t meet her gaze, so she hitched up her dress and straddled him right there on the chair. Already she could feel him straining against the fabric of his robe pressing against her center. She couldn’t help but moan as she made herself comfortable, placing her hands on either side of his head so he couldn’t look anywhere else.

“What are you doing?” he struggled under her and bit his lip as his eyes fluttered.

“I’m giving you an option. Either you can tell me to go away and take care of my problem myself with whomever I randomly meet on the street or you can help me yourself with the added benefit that you are helped too. The choice is yours.” Mira rolled her hips as emphasis and was rewarded with a breathless moan.

“I-I cannot ask you-you to-”

Mira leaned in and kissed him before he could finish his sentence. She’d waited long enough for him to make the first move and that now proved impossible even with Sanguine’s Bliss involved. If she wanted to make her feelings known, it was up to her to do it. This wasn’t _exactly_ how she imagined their first kiss to be, she certainly hadn’t wanted it to be under the influence of a flower that made them lust for each other, but _gods,_ it was still somehow perfect.

If there were any doubts in her mind that Farengar wasn’t interested in her, they were soon tossed out the window. He returned her kiss with heated passion, one hand gripping her thigh while the other reached up and pulled her face closer. She pulled the hood from his head, he tangled his fingers in her golden locks as they explored each other with fervor.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” he whispered against her lips once they parted for breath. She wanted to reply, to compliment him too, instead she just kissed him again and again, hips rolling with growing need. 

The fear of being caught was immediately forgotten as frenzied hands rushed to rid each other of all their clothing. Farengar’s robe was easiest as it had already been mostly undone. Mira’s fingers traced against the coarse hair of his chest and then up over his broad shoulders. She raised her arms as Farengar struggled to lift her dress, revealing to him the second time her supple skin and pert breasts.

Not that he spent much time admiring them. Miralyn had already moved the rest of his clothes away and was rubbing herself against his shaft with a vigor that surprised her. She’d never wanted anything more in this life than she wanted him in this moment and she was now a breath away from having that dream fulfilled.

“I need you,” she nearly begged, hands steadying themselves on his shoulders.

Farengar grinned, hooking his arms under her legs and lifting her with surprising ease in one fluid motion. Mira thought he was going to take her back to his room and finally have his way with her, but the cold press of the enchanting table against her bum was a pleasant and welcome surprise. 

She bit back a moan, thighs gripping his waist and fingers grasping his shoulders at the slow burn as he pressed inside her. Lust glazed eyes stared into her own, his grip at her hip tightening as he let out a shuddering sigh. His forehead pressed into her shoulder, teeth grazing flesh, rocking hard into her with a deliberate push.

“You don’t,” she gasped as he bottomed out inside her, eyes rolling back as he steadied himself there, “have to be-” she pressed her hips up, grinding, “so gentle.”

“I’d rather not hurt you,” he nipped her shoulder, breath ragged and wanting. 

It was precious, not that she would tell him that lest his fragile masculinity be fractured further. “Farengar,” she cupped his cheek and made him look her in the eye, “I have fought bandits and sabre cats. I’ve taken on bears and werewolves. I fight dragons damn near daily. I think I can handle your cock.”

As if realization dawned upon him, he pulled away just enough before slamming into her. He swallowed her surprised gasp as his lips claimed her own, fingers bruising her hips as he let go and gave in. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, legs wrapped tighter around his waist as she met him thrust for thrust.

Muffled moans mixed with the slick sounds of their coupling echoed through the quiet halls. If a guard or noble passed, they did not notice nor did they care. Mira’s gaze focused and unfocused on the man before her, eyes closing with each and every kiss they shared. 

_Gods! Why haven’t we done this before?_

Feral eyes met hers as they fluttered open. With a quick movement, Farengar lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, teeth nipping at her calf as he buried himself deep within her. His gaze did not waver, his rhythm never faltered as he flexed his hips. She tried to match him, grinding herself in time with the deep, steady thrusts that were taking her higher and higher.

“You’re...so... _gods…_ ” Farengar punctuated each word with a thrust, his words getting lost in the pleasure of it all. 

Mira barely registered the sound as the fluttering in her abdomen swelled and heated and quickened all at once. Her fingers grappled at his shoulders, legs tightening as every muscle in her body coiled. She felt as though she were gripping a ledge with all her strength, desperate to hold on and ride out the building pressure.

And then she let go.

It was as if chain lightning had struck her making every nerve ending in her body spark with pure ecstasy. She shook and vibrated, twitching and contorting with wave after wave of pleasure. Farengar’s name was the only sound to come from her lips in soft sobs as he continued his relentless passions. He sped up, hips pistoning with vigor and breath coming in short gasps until she felt him twitching with release inside her. 

_“Perfect,”_ he whispered, slowly thrusting now as if reluctant to withdraw from her so soon. 

“Farengar,” she crooned, nudging his cheek with her nose until he granted her his lips. Mira kissed him softly, pulling him close and keeping her legs wrapped around him for a moment more. “I-” she paused, the implications of her thoughts now hanging over her like a darkened cloud. It was as if reason and clarity had finally made their appearance, and the idea of spilling any feelings for the mage held her tongue in place.

“Hm?” He was leaning his head upon her shoulder now, fingers lightly stroking up and down her arms in content.

“We should get dressed,” Miralyn hesitated to push him away quickly, worried he might find that as a form of rejection. After what she’d just experienced there on his enchanting table, she was absolutely certain she would never reject him over anything, but she didn’t wish to say something under the effects of Sanguine’s Bliss she might not have otherwise.

“Ah, yes,” he smiled shyly, cheeks burning as he realized only now he was completely nude out in the open. Carefully he withdrew from her, leaving her empty and hollow and almost desperate for his return. 

“And I should probably wash too. May I use your room again?” Already she could feel the stickiness of her thighs and his essence leaking as she lowered herself from the table. Surprising, considering how much she’d wiped off her face before. 

Farengar nodded and stooped to grab her dress from the floor and toss it to her before reaching for his own discarded robes. 

The moment she retreated to his room, she closed the door. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, though no longer with reckless desire. What had they done? What had _she_ done? With the hazy fog of lust no longer clouding her mind, Miralyn couldn’t help but feel as though everything that just transpired had ruined what relationship they had. How could she look at him without wanting him? How could she speak with him about meaningless things when all she could think about was the way he’d made her feel?

How was he supposed to look at her without seeing a harlot?

She supposed most Nords didn’t mind one way or another, but she knew how the people of Riften felt about Helga and her worship of Dibella. Even those that had succumbed to her seduction walked with their heads lowered when they passed her home. If Farengar felt the same way after tonight...she didn’t wish to think about it.

If she thought the ordeal between them was over, Miralyn would have been wrong. The moment she began cleaning herself, the heat and desire washed back over her. It seemed almost scolding, as if she knew better than to touch herself, and punished her with wave after wave of lust the more she tried. 

_Fine. I’ll ignore it. My underthings are ruined already,_ she ‘hmphed as she dressed herself. It didn’t help, as she knew it wouldn’t, but it calmed as soon as she was back in the presence of the mage leaning over his alchemy table…

Making another potion.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked, feeling more relief the closer she got. If his presence now was all it would take to quell the rising heat within her, she would gladly take it and hope he understood.

“Aye,” he nodded and licked his thumb to turn the page. Divines, she’d never wished to be a finger so badly-

“After how that last one turned out?” Mira shifted her weight so that she was now touching him. Sparks of electricity scattered through her entire being and she realized then she had made a grave mistake.

He smirked down at her, his face relaxed and gentled for possibly the first time since she’d known him. It was captivating the way his thin lips twisted at their corners. Lips that she had tasted. Lips that she longed to kiss again…

“This one does not require Lady’s Smock,” he assured her, seemingly unaffected. “But it _is_ necessary for you to take as soon as it has cooled. Unless,” he tilted his head away from her, yet another blush creeping up his neck, “you have a desire for my seed to take.”

Her eyes widened at the implication. It took but a glance at the book to realize now what potion he was brewing and it’s intended use.

“Ah. I see,” she whispered. Despite the civil war being through and Alduin and Miraak defeated, Miralyn was unsure what the future held with her being Dragonborn. The idea of having children was not an unpleasant one, especially not with him, but until this evening, he’d never expressed any desire for her. “And how long until it is done and cooled?”

Touching him through cloth was not helping. She wished to feel his skin against her, the heat of his mouth upon her, his body pinning her down. Desire bloomed like a rose deep within her and the only way to sate the growing hunger was to take him again, so long as he was still willing.

“It should be finished momentarily and should cool fairly quickly,” he replied.

“Good.” Miralyn turned back toward his room, fingers already working on loosening the bodice of the dress as quickly as she was able. 

“Mira?” 

There it was. The evidence he was still under the effects of the potion from earlier. The rasp of his voice, the quiet strain of trying to keep composure. If she turned back now, she imagined she would see him attempting to adjust himself.

She smirked.

“As soon as that is finished, mind to join me?” she asked over her shoulder, slowly sliding down the dress just as she reached the door. “Because while i don’t think it wise to bear your children yet, Farengar, I intend on thoroughly practicing before the night is through.”

His jaw dropped in time with her dress. He was gifted with the faintest imprints of runes on her shapely buttocks before they disappeared into his bedroom. Desperately, he’d been trying to hide his arousal since she returned from cleaning up. It hadn’t ever fully gone away, which was highly unusual. Likely another symptom proving their ordeal wasn’t over, but he thought it best to hide it from her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was insatiable now that he’d had a taste of her. 

Even if it _were_ true.

It was all he could think about now. The softness of her skin and sweetness of her kisses all the way to how her thighs locked him in place as she tightened around him. He remembered every clear detail from the way her eyes fluttered with every push and pull, or the way her full lips parted as she gasped. Oblivion, even his _name_ on her tongue as she let go was more beautiful than any bard’s voice.

Farengar was following her before he could convince himself otherwise. The moment he was through the door to his sleeping chambers, hands grasped him and pressed him firmly against the wall. Lips collided with his own and he submitted to their sweet embrace. Miralyn’s fingers made quick work of his robes, pushing them from his shoulders and sending the fabric to a heap at their feet as her naked body aligned with his own. He could feel her smile against him and shuddered at the feel of her hands tracing his bare skin with reverence.

She was his undoing. With a simple touch, she had him falling for her. With a bat of her lashes, she had him hooked. With her smile, she had his mind, body, and soul. He wanted nothing more than to serve her, to worship her, to place her on the pedestal he believed her to belong on. 

So that’s just what he did.

Miralyn giggled with glee as he lifted her again and took her straight to the bed. Carefully, he laid her down and took his time kissing every inch of her skin from her soft jawline to her freckled shoulders and from there, to her sternum and stomach. He wanted to taste the expanse of her skin, to show reverence to every scar she’d earned defending Skyrim from every threat it yet faced.

Farengar wasn’t the most experienced of lovers. He felt most inadequate there between her thighs where Miralyn had seemed an expert between his own, but he did not let that deter him. Still he had to admit he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He’d experimented with colleagues from the college, however few they were, but he’d not nearly been as eager to please them as he was Mira. Remembering them now, he wondered if he ever pleased them at all.

“O- _oh,”_ she sighed, head falling back as he spread her thighs and kissed along the soft flesh. This pleased him. It pleased him a great deal that she showed no shame and allowed him this. So much so that he couldn’t contain himself a moment longer. 

“You’ll let me know if I do something wrong, won’t you?” he swallowed, mouth watering at the sight of her. Never before had he felt such hunger. He _needed_ to smell her, to taste her. 

“The only thing you’re doing wrong right now, Farengar, is making me wait,” she told him, lips parted and breaths now coming out in short pants. She was so wet and so eager and he was a starving man sitting in a banquet hall with a feast spread out before him. 

Fingers gripped the sheets of the bed and legs tightened against his back as he swiped his tongue against her slick folds. His eyes closed as he kissed her, tenderly at first before burying his nose into the soft mound of blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. He groaned at the taste of musk and salt and desire as he slowly coaxed her open. 

Like when he was a younger man at the College of Winterhold, he experimented. Slowly, at first, careful not to do anything she might find offensive or would hurt her, and then gaining confidence as he ushered forth reactions. A few times she would correct him by either tilting his head up or down, or moving her hips until he was where she needed him to be. All the while she encouraged him with a sweet voice and rewarded him with rattled moans when he did something she liked. 

Before long, her hands were fisted in his hair and her hips pressing harder against him to the point he could scarcely breathe.

He wanted her to come. He wanted the taste of her to coat his tongue and remain seared into his memory forever. He wanted to be the reason she lost all sense of self and control. He wanted to make sure she would never forget him after this night since it was likely it would be the first and last they would share in this manner.

One finger, and then another slipped inside her without resistance. He groaned. So hot, so _wet._ She was utter perfection and as badly as he wished to bury himself deep within her again, he was resolved to make her come apart from his hands and tongue alone as she’d done for him. 

_“Divines!”_ Mira tensed at the sensation, legs locking at the intensity of it all. “Curl your fingers-”

He did as he was told and the results left him breathless. He was rewarded to a symphony of moans and sighs intermingled with the sounds of his name. To think, the _Dovahkiin_ was saying _his_ name in the throes of passion. The only thing he longed for more was to watch her, to see her face. The first time he’d been too preoccupied trying not to spend himself before she had, but this time her body served to obscure his vision as it bowed off the bed.

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer and cutting off all air. He did not care. His tongue flicked harder against her clit and he pressed his fingers against the soft tissue inside her cunt until her walls began clenching around them. 

Just as before, Miralyn came with a shout and again, it was his name falling from her lips as he rode out the waves of her ecstasy. 

Farengar didn’t even have the chance to clean her up before Miralyn was leaning forward and pulling him to her lips, kissing and sharing the taste of her desire for him. He very nearly came again right there on the floor where he knelt as she moaned against his lips.

“On the bed. Now.”

She didn’t give him the opportunity to respond before she was dragging him off his knees and pinning him down on the bed beneath her. Golden curls cascaded down her back, candlelight casting their shadows upon the creamy walls of his room. He couldn’t decide what was more erotic; watching her rub herself against his cock or watching the roll of her shadow imitating her movements. 

“Mira.” He just wanted to say her name, to see the small smile spread across her pretty face. He reached toward her in reverence, fingers still wet with her cum mingled with his own pulling down on her lips. Without warning, Miralyn captured his fingers in her mouth. Her tongue swirled over and between them, sucking every last trace of her essence from them with a seductive smile.

Farengar decided, as if he hadn’t already known, there could be no other that he would want and need as much as he wanted and needed this woman.

***

All night long the two of them lost themselves in each other, resting only so long as the effects of the potion allowed. Fingers intertwined, their bodies a constant tangle, and echoes of their moans and sighs filled the room well until early morning light. Eventually, exhaustion won out and they both drifted to a deep, restful sleep.

Miralyn was the first to wake. She was hot. Too hot, and it didn’t take long to understand why. Farengar’s bed was not built for two people to share and yet she was hopelessly tangled in Nordic arms and legs. Her head rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart nearly lulling her back to sleep until the tickle of sweat down her spine made her shudder. 

Careful not to wake him, Mira slid from his grasp and out of the mess of blankets and sheets to make her way to the wash basin on the other side of the room. She stretched out her arms and legs, smiling to herself at the smallest hints of soreness before grimacing at the evidence of sticky sweat and other fluids all over her. 

_ At least the weird cloud and haze seems to have gone, _ she noted as she took the rag from the basin and began to wash herself. She was glad to no longer feel the intense need and desire that drove her into near insanity. She was still tired and knew if she laid down again once she was clean, it wouldn’t take long for her to drift off.

She was nearly resolved to do just that when she turned and nearly let out a screech. Sitting in a chair where no one had been was the grinning face of a prince she’d hoped to never see again. 

“What in Oblivion are you doing here?” she barked out a harsh whisper, worried she might wake Farengar and alert him to the Daedric prince’s presence. No doubt that meeting would go over well.

Sanguine, in his daedric form, simply grinned at her much the same way he had the night he challenged her to a drinking game and snapped his fingers. In an instant, they were transported to another realm.  _ His _ realm where eternal darkness loomed overhead, fog blurred the horizon, and twisted trees hung at odd angles and shapes. 

And she was still stark ass naked.

“Is that any way to greet a friend?” He asked her, voice low and seductive. “And here I thought we’d gotten along so well.”

Miralyn crossed her arms over her chest wishing now she’d at least put on some clothes. “And I thought you had your fun with me enough to last you another century, yet here we are.”

“Oh come now, Dovahkiin, why such hostility? Did you not have a most excellent evening?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion now at the forefront of her mind. “What do you know of last night?”

Sanguine took his place at a table that suddenly appeared, completely with an entire host of Daedra she knew she could call on should she use the staff he bestowed upon her. Some eyed her with great interest, their fiendish tongues slicking over their dark lips and their red eyes looking her up and down. Others merely ignored her, too preoccupied with their drinks to care about the naked Breton in their midst.

“Would you care for some Daedric wine? I recall you really having a taste for it,” he asked, pouring the dark red liquid into a goblet and offering it to her. 

“What I would like to know is what do you know about last night?” Miralyn repeated herself, refusing his gift. 

He shrugged, apparently not offended or worried by her refusal, and handed it off to one of his many minions, “What does it matter what I know? You did not answer my question.”

_ Dealing with Daedra is the absolute worst, _ Miralyn remembered, though she wasn’t sure how she could forget. Every single one that had taken interest in her did so with the intent of having a claim to her soul once she passed on. Sanguine was the only one that seemed disinterested in her afterlife. 

“My evening was quite excellent, if you must know,” she conceded. 

“Oh good!” Sanguine clapped his hands together, creating a round of applause that the entire Daedric banquet now shared. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“What did you  _ do?” _

“I did what  _ any _ good friend would do in my situation,” he replied, almost looking hurt that she would dare accuse him of anything untoward. “You had a need, a desire, and I wished to see it fulfilled for your happiness. Considering how long it was taking Mara and Dibella to make the magic happen, I took it upon myself to intervene. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Miralyn very nearly dropped her arms in disbelief, her heart stuttering in her chest as she realized what he was saying. All those things she’d felt, everything Farengar might have felt...had it all just been a product of Sanguine working some dark magic? She knew the effect of the potion had worn off and  _ her _ feelings on the matter hadn’t changed, but she’d been in love with Farengar long before now. The thought that he was only influenced into sleeping with her because Sanguine intervened felt like a knife to the gut.

“Why the long face?” Sanguine tilted his head, voice almost concerned. “Was that not what you wanted?”

“No!” she shouted, anger trembling her voice. “What I  _ wanted _ was for him to want and love me as I did him. Not be  _ forced _ because you thought you were  _ helping _ me!”

The chatter at the table had gone quiet, all eyes now turned in her direction. She’d been rude. She’d been loud. She’d interrupted them. 

But Sanguine held out a hand to calm them before turning to her with a sharp toothed smile. “Oh my dear Dovahkiin,” he purred, coming closer. His fingers twisted in her tangled golden locks as he walked around her, making her skin crawl and stomach churn with every step, “Sanguine’s Bliss only affects those that are attracted to one another. No attraction means no effect. No need to worry if your mage wants you, he most certainly does as it took complete exhaustion to finally put you both to rest.”

Miralyn’s cheeks burned bright red and suddenly she felt even more exposed than she already was. “I-well...that was not noted in the description.”

Sanguine barked in laughter quickly joined by a chorus of Daedra. “Do you think I would share a most precious gift such as my flowers to just anyone?”

“Do they refer to you as the Daedric Prince of Debauchery?”

“Point well made,” he shook his head. “But I cannot be in control of everyone’s choices of partners in the matter, now can I? Perhaps those that experimented were amongst those they felt an intense connection with?”

It seemed too simple, or even too  _ pure, _ for that to be anything the Daedric Prince would want, but he seemed sincere enough. Besides, he  _ was _ rather fond of her and didn’t treat her as though she were another soul for him to enslave like some of the other princes she’d met.

“Can I go back now? Before he wakes up?” Miralyn asked. She hoped he didn’t wake to see her missing or think she’d left him at first light. 

“Oh, yes, of course. But first,” Sanguine stood tall and proud, every bit the devilish prince he was, “what do we say to friends who help us?”

Mira rolled her eyes, “Thank you.”

“Now was that so hard?” Sanguine bowed and then created a portal that gave her a window into Farengar’s bedchamber. It appeared he was still sound asleep much to her relief.

Mira thanked him again, this time the words not tasting like bile on her tongue, and made her way to the portal.

“Oh! And one more thing,” Sanguine called out, causing her to turn just in time to catch a vial of small, white flowers that looked like a lady’s smock. 

“You filthy sonofa-”

“You’re welcome!” Sanguine called one last time before shoving her through the portal and making it disappear.

_ When I get my hands on that arrogant, classless, foolish daedra, he will wish he’d never met me, _ Miralyn thought to herself as she stood awkwardly in the middle of the bedroom. She was still naked and now the sun was too bright making her squint. In one of her hands was the vial full of Lady’s Smock flowers, the only prize she’d come back with this time from her adventures. 

To her left, Farengar began to stir.

For a moment, he looked confused and then panicked. His eyes grew wide as he rolled over to face the wall and then sat up in bed as if searching for something. It wasn’t until he looked up to see her standing by the wash basin that he stilled and relief washed over him.

“Good morning. At least, I think it’s still morning,” she offered a smile. She  _ was _ truly happy to see him, even knowing what she knew about Sanguine’s  _ assistance _ in their coupling. It did nothing to slow the hammering of her heart as Farengar looked at her, his own face softening just a touch to see her still there. 

Now the poor mage seemed embarrassed as he looked down at his hands, and then the wall, and then back toward the bed. “I, ah, was not expecting you to still be-”

“Nude?” Mira smirked and walked over to him, placing the vial on one of the dressers as she passed. Best to wait and try to explain how she got her hands on the real thing there in his room. There were some secrets she had that were best left unspoken, at least for now.

His cheeks were blazing now and he was doing his best to hide them by rubbing his hands over his face and through his well-tousled hair. “I was going to say here,” he swallowed nervously, not looking at her as she sat beside him on the bed.

Mira tilted her head and frowned. “Why wouldn’t I still be here?”

“The potion’s effects appear to have worn off. I assumed-”

“That I would leave the moment they did?” She reached out and turned his head to face her. “I hope this isn’t a disappointment?”

No matter what assurances Sanguine promised her, Miralyn wouldn’t be satisfied until she heard the words from Farengar’s mouth. It was impossible to believe that a flower could only affect people attracted to each other, and she knew the mere suggestion to the mage would have him scratching his head in disbelief. Or laughing at her for thinking such foolish thoughts. 

“What? A disappointment? You?” Farengar’s eyes widened as he reached out to touch her, hesitating only inches from her face. “I’m glad you stayed,” he added, voice barely a whisper.

Miralyn leaned her face into his touch, warmed by the affection and by his visible relief. That, and finding solace in the realization that perhaps there  _ was _ something to what the Daedric Prince had told her. “You truly do not know how badly I have wanted this.”

“You did?”

“Of course,” she chuckled. “Why do you think I always seek you out and tolerate your ranting or watch you enchant things?” She leaned in and kissed him soundly before saying, “I am hopelessly in love with you.”

“Even before the potion?”

Miralyn rolled her eyes, “Farengar Secret-Fire, do you not think yourself worthy of being loved by me?”

“I-I had  _ hoped,” _ he muttered sheepishly, avoiding her gaze. “Remember you asked me why I was brewing a potion of courage?”

She had, though she remembered he hadn’t been able to answer her. It seemed like that had been the moment when their failed concoction took effect, and she just never had the opportunity to ask him again why. 

“It was a personal potion,” he admitted. “So that I might find the courage to-to ask you, no, to  _ tell  _ you…” he paused and sighed. “To tell you how I felt.”

Mira chuckled, “You never had an issue before, as I recall.”

“Saying you are a nuisance and annoying and over loud and troublesome is one thing,” he scolded, but there was a softness in his smile now. A tenderness she’d only just witnessed the night before and felt each time he touched her now. “Telling you that I am also hopelessly in love with you is entirely another.”

The warmth that now spread through her belly and up her body was one brought about simply because she  _ loved _ him, not because some potion created the feelings of desire or because a daedric prince decided to meddle in affairs that were not his domain. Mira leaned forward and kissed him sweetly at first and then deepened it, elated now that he’d said the words she hoped he would. Strong, Nord arms wrapped around her smaller frame and pulled her closer, breaths sharpening as lips parted and kisses deepened. He moved to pull her back onto his lap as desire was renewed, but winced at the strain. 

“Are you okay?” Miralyn worried, looking to make sure she hadn’t accidentally hurt him in the transition of her back onto his lap.

“I feel as though I have made the journey up the seven thousand steps a half dozen times,” he gritted his teeth as he flexed beneath her. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. Try as she might to spare him her laughter, there was naught that could be done. How easy it was for her to forget that not everyone was nearly as physically fit as she was, nor strained their every muscle in the ways she had. Farengar least of all. Though a Nord, he was still a mage. In her experience, they often weren’t so used to such strenuous activity. 

He furrowed his brow and frowned, clearly not pleased by her response.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, kissing his forehead and then his lips and anywhere else she could to show she meant it, “I  _ have _ climbed the seven thousand steps over a half dozen times, and even I am sore this morning.”

This gentled him and ever so slowly, he allowed himself to be pushed back against the bed while she showered him with kisses and praise and love. He was fully coming to appreciate this morning reprieve, cock already stiff with renewed want, when there was a knock at the door. 

“Farengar? Are you awake?” 

It was Irileth.

“I’m afraid I am busy at the moment,” he replied, hands roaming Miralyn’s body and hips grinding against hers. “Come back later.”

Irileth was not to be ignored, however, and the knocking continued. 

“Need I remind you of your duties as the court wizard, mage?” she spat. 

Farengar refused to answer, or couldn’t, because Miralyn deviously rolled her hips along his shaft rendering him speechless. To her relief, the knocking stopped, and the two of them grinned at each other, both eager to get back to where they left off. 

She was just getting into a set rhythm of riding his cock when the knocking began again. This time, it was harder, more incessant, and seemed to threaten to knock the door off its hinges. 

“Farengar!”

Mira grimaced, jaw set with frustration as she pulled herself from her lover’s lap and marched toward the door. She paused only long enough to pick up Farengar’s robes and wrap them tightly around herself to preserve some of her modesty before opening the door. 

“I do believe Farengar said he was busy, yes?” she crossed her arms over her chest, keeping the door open wide enough that they couldn’t peek in to see the court mage naked on his bed.

“Ah, Miralyn. I did not know you were here,” Balgruuf’s anger dissolved the moment he recognized her. “If I had known you sought an appointment with Farengar this morning-”

He paused, looking at her more fully now. Without a mirror, Miralyn could only guess at what he saw, but she imagined it was a sight. Here she was, the Dragonborn and protector of Skyrim standing barefoot in Farengar’s robes. Her skin was flushed and her hair likely looked like a skeever’s nest with how tousled and tangled her curls had become from Farengar’s hands in them all night.

“I do not believe she was here for an appointment,” Irileth stated. It was hard to see through her dark skin, but Mira could hear the blush on her cheeks.

The jarl’s eyes lit in an instant, the puzzle pieces connecting together in his mind. “My apologies,” he said. “If you would send Farengar to me once you are-his  _ business _ is through, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she replied with a wide smile. That was when she noticed the glint of a bottle sitting on Farengar’s desk and remembered their conversation from the night before.

Without another word, Miralyn stepped forward, lightly closing the door behind her, padded toward the bottle and returned to the door well aware of their eyes following her the entire time. 

“If there’s nothing else?” she looked between them as she downed the potion brewed for her the night before. When they shook their head, she shut the door and returned to a confused, and eager Farengar. 

“Now remind me, where were we?”


End file.
